Only If For A Night
by laughingmagician
Summary: In a post!Hogwarts!au, Hermione Granger visits Draco Malfoy's grave.  Startled to find his ghost there, she soon learns that death wasn't really the end for Draco.
1. Chapter 1

**Only If For A Night**

**Setting**: au!post-Hogwarts

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything from the world of Harry Potter, and I commend J. for her brilliant idea!

**Rating**: Mature

**Pairing**: Draco/Hermione

**Warnings**: Character Death.

**Notes**: inspired by Florence & The Machine's song "Only If For A Night"

**Chapter 1 **

She wasn't sure what brought her there. Maybe it was the bitter cold that surrounded her now as the snow swirled down and collected in blankets around the headstones. Maybe it was the fact that Ron hardly spoke to her these days, especially after...

The war had changed them all, and losing his brother had taken its toll on Ron. So Hermione gave him space, kept her distance until he could recover.

Only she was starting to fear he never would.

Harry had his own problems, as did the rest of the Order. The school had been destroyed, and most of the Death Eaters killed in the process, not to mention Lord Voldemort himself. But Hermione couldn't help feeling like not all of the fatalities were truly at fault for what they'd done.

She knelt down in front of the headstone and reached up with a gentle hand to trace the letters of the name.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy._

To say he had ever been her friend would be a complete lie, but towards the end Hermione had pitied him. This pity was born out of the realization that the other wizard had been given no choice in his destiny. It was either become a Death Eater or die. Some would argue this meant he did have a choice, but Hermione would argue that anyone who said such a thing had never had their life threatened before with an ultimatum. It was easy to imagine what one would do in such a situation, but when it came down to it, you never knew for sure until you experienced it.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice that snapped at her was the last she'd expected to hear, and Hermione fell back on the snow in shock, landing on her hands as she looked at the ghost. There he was in all of his Malfoy glory. The paleness of death suited him, and his eyes were still a startling blue. All in all, the only real difference in his appearance was the fact that the world shined through him visibly. She could see the graveyard he stood in front of through his translucent figure. She could also very clearly see the scowl on his face.

It was not an unfamiliar sight.

"I had a dream last night that you were-"

"Were what, Granger? _Dead_? Because that's not a dream in case you didn't notice!" he practically growled.

She stood up carefully, brushing the snow off of her pants, and walked towards him. The ghost took a step back-almost as if he were afraid-but kept glaring at her. She had, after all, simply stood by and watched her friends kill him. This was Draco's point of view, the murky memories of the last few moments of his life that were overwhelmed with pain and regret and then nothingness until he woke up here and now, with _her _there. Out of everyone there it had to be the mudblood whore, didn't it? Couldn't have been that cute little redhead Potter was fucking these days, or hell even someone daft like Seamus would have done, but no it had to be Granger.

Even in his death, she haunted him.

"Yes," Hermione told him quietly. "I see you die," she whispered. For a moment her eyes took on a clouded appearance, as if she were lost in some memory he could never share. Only it was a memory he had taken part in, because every night when Hermione Granger closed her eyes she saw his death again. And again and again and again.

"So sorry to trouble your sleep," Draco muttered bitterly.

"It's more than that," Hermione assured him, looking regretfully towards him. "Draco, I'm sorry. What they did to you, what I let them do-"

"It's done," he snapped, cutting her off there. "You know I knew war changed people, but I never thought it would change you, Granger. Everyone else, sure, but not you. You were supposed to be the only bloody one of us who was strong enough to stay who they were through everything, and even you…" He took a breath, more out of habit than anything. "Do you realize that you're the last person I saw before I died?"

He couldn't tell her how he had only just awoken to existence here as a ghost because of her presence. He couldn't tell her that. It would give her too much power over him, and she already made him hate everything he was.

"Yes," Hermione answered again, and there were tears forming in her eyes now.

"No!" Draco yelled, glaring at her. "No, you don't get to fucking cry about this, Granger! Not after everything!" But his raised voice only caused her tears to fall down her face, and he reached out with a ghost hand, the tip of his index finger touching one of the tears. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel _anything_.

So he snatched his hand away violently as if she'd bitten him, holding it in a fist at his side. "You don't get to fucking cry about this," he repeated darkly.

"I tried to tell them," Hermione insisted quietly. "I tried to convince them that you weren't…all bad."

"Well good job with that," Draco snapped. "Your best work yet, Granger. They shoved my own fucking wand through my heart!" he yelled, pointing at the bleeding wound that appeared on his ghost form where he'd been stabbed. "Like a gods damned _vampire_, Granger! When exactly did they stop seeing me as a person? First year? Second? Or maybe it was after that?"

"Draco, you are not a monster!" she argued.

"Well they slaughtered me like one," he reminded her grimly. "The one fucking time I buckle and go to you and the Wonder Twins for help, and I'm killed without the chance to explain myself."

"I tried to tell them why you were there, Draco," Hermione insisted.

His expression changed, the anger melting away for a moment to reveal something else, something completely foreign to his mannerisms entirely. Vulnerability. Hermione had seen it only twice in her life-once at Malfoy Manor where she thought she was going to be killed, and again when he'd come to her with the surprising news that he didn't want this life anymore. He was a Death Eater in name only, and he needed her help, and gods please don't turn him away because he had no where else to go!

And she had seen his arm, the way he'd burned the mark away the best he could. But the black lines of that sadistic snake lingered in hints here or there, a testament that he could never truly forget what he was.

So Hermione had taken him inside, had cleaned and wrapped his arm with gauze-no magic, he'd told her. He didn't want any more of it-and she'd gone to get Ron and Harry. Harry had stared coldly from the doorway, refusing to walk into the room where Malfoy was, but Ron…

Ron had stepped forward, and Malfoy had held a hand up, offering his own wand to the other wizard. Ron had stared at it for the longest time before taking it. She should have stepped in then, Hermione realized that now, but looking back it had just appeared as if Ron was listening to Draco trying to explain, trying to apologize.

But Ron hadn't heard a word of it.

He'd taken a step forward and slammed that wand straight through Draco's heart, muttering some kind of torturous spell under his breath so that the Malfoy felt pain as he died, so that he lingered longer than a wound straight through the heart should have allowed him to. He'd died slowly and in agony, Hermione rushing down to his side.

She would never forget the feeling of his pureblood on her hands, that warmth and uncomfortable strength behind it fading as he laid there in agony. To his credit, Draco hadn't cried out. The tears had fallen from his eyes, sure, but he had kept silent.

And Harry…she'd looked to Harry for help, but her friend simply stood there _watching_. Hermione hadn't realized it up until that moment, but Voldemort had defeated Harry in a way, had taken what was left of his merciful personality and left a hollow shell of the man he'd once been.

So she had looked back at Malfoy, who had tried to tell her something before he died. He hadn't managed to speak.

"What was it you were saying?" Hermione asked him now in a near whisper.

The ghost looked startled by her question. "What do you mean?" Draco snapped.

"When you were…dying," Hermione said, "what was it you were trying to tell me?"

He was silent for a moment, then walked over to stand in front of his own headstone. The snow covering the grave made it difficult to tell how recently he'd been buried, but she and he both knew it had only been a week. How far down had they tossed his rotting body? Was his flesh gone by now, or hadn't the maggots gotten there yet? He could only imagine what condition his body was in. It would disappear and turn to dust, and soon there would be nothing left of him aside from whispered stories and dark rumors.

"I was asking you for help," he finally admitted, keeping his gaze on the headstone instead of glancing at her. He didn't want to see the tears on her face. She had no right to them. "I figured if anyone could save me, it was you, but you just...you just sat there, letting me bleed on you."

"I'm not god, Draco," she whispered.

"No," he agreed instantly. "But you are one hell of a witch." He glanced down at his arm now, a ghost arm that held no hint of the Dark Mark his physical body had refused to be rid of completely. In death he was free.

"Maybe I could-"

"No," Draco replied, cutting her off before she went down that road. "Leave it, Granger. Please. You couldn't convince your friends-the two people who trust you the most-that there's any good left in me. I'd rather stay as I am, stuck somewhere between worlds with no worries but your appearance at my graveside."

"There has to be another way," she argued quietly, moving to stand in front of him now, blocking his view of the headstone.

"Another way for what?" Draco asked her, scoffing. "I'm dead, and dead I will remain, but thanks to you-for whatever reason-I linger." Her expression changed to confusion, then understanding. Oh fuck it, she'd figured it out, so why not finally tell her? He hadn't just randomly shown up when she arrived at his graveside, there was a bloody reason for it.

"That's right, Granger. Your hands over my heart as it bled out, your eyes focused on mine as my vision began to fade, all of this along with the fact that you are the _only _person to believe I genuinely wanted no more part in Voldemort's foolishness, it _connected _us. It's old magic, the oldest kind, and thanks to you now I'm fucking _stuck _here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sitting on the windowsill, he watched her sleep in silence. Granger. Hermione bloody Granger. The mudblood with an attitude. The third wheel to Weasel and Pothead's annoying couple. And worse yet, she could easily best him in magic and had more than once before.

But none of that mattered now. Because he was _dead_.

He was, very literally, a ghost now. And it was all her fault. She couldn't just let him go like everyone else. Oh everyone else had given up on him years ago, but Granger? Granger insisted he was good until the end. And that was why he had gone to her instead of the Wonder Twins, which had gone _sooo _much better. A wand through his fucking heart.

Draco was pretty sure he was the first wizard to die that way, and he had to give Weasley props for creativity.

Only now, as Hermione laid there sleeping, he realized one thing-there was no end for him. He stayed because part of her still believed in him, and the oldest of magics had always relied on faith hadn't they?

He hopped off of the windowsill and walked over, kneeling beside the bed to be more at her level. Reaching up as if he were going to touch her shoulder, he hesitated and simply whispered, "Let me go."

She awoke slowly as if coming out of a daze more than sleep, and she didn't seem at all surprised to see him there. Hermione hardly moved aside from shifting her eyes towards where he knelt. Was she imagining it, or was she able to see through him now more than she had a few nights ago? Was Draco Malfoy fading?

And if he was, was it her place to try and stop it?

"You were haunting my dreams again," she informed him quietly.

Draco recognized the fear in her tone immediately only because it was such a strange thing to hear from her of all people. "Weasel doesn't share a room with you?" he asked, standing up and glancing around the room, ignoring her troubled look that was followed by a glare. She clearly didn't want to explain.

Granger-and all the other do-gooders-had camped out on the smoldering remains of the school weeks back. Magic allowed their tents to hold actual buildings rather than just cloth rooms, but Hermione had insisted on a more traditional set up for hers. Her tent appeared as a simply cabin on the inside, and it stood not far from where the school's back entrance had once been.

It was tragic really that a building so beautifully designed as Hogwart's had been torn apart during the fighting, but these things did happen. He was almost sure Malfoy Manor was in a similar state where it had once stood tall and proud and dark, towering above the rest of the neighborhood in a menacing warning that said '_Beware, all ye who enter here._'

Draco stared at Hermione now in silence, considering his words carefully before going right back to the core of the conversation in a tone that was just as fearful as her own, "You haunted mine for years." So this was what? Payback? Revenge for the filthy mudblood who clawed her way into his thoughts, and it hadn't even been attraction-gods no, he would _never _be attracted to the bitch in front of him-more just curious, because she was the one student at Hogwart's aside from Potter that he couldn't truly hurt. Ron cried at just about anything it seemed, Potter had the stiff upper lip outlook, but Hermione? Even if she cried from his words the sadness never quite reached her eyes.

There wasn't room for it there, what with all the useless knowledge she kept in that brain of hers. No room for despair, only learning. And she had intrigued him because she was the one thing he _couldn't _destroy. They were both the best of their class, complete opposites in every way other than their shared intellect. The biggest difference between them was that Draco kept his fucking mouth shut while Granger always insisted on raising her hand to answer questions, made sure that everyone _knew _that she knew the answers.

No, Draco had been content to sit in the shadows and watch her take the credit for the bookwork. He'd had more important things on his mind than getting good marks anyhow, and if the class paid attention to her it allowed him the freedom of mocking Potter without most teachers noticing.

But that was all over now. The school was destroyed, and they'd long ago stopped being _students_.

"You don't want me to go," Draco concluded, staring at Hermione through cold, blue eyes that gave nothing away. Nor did his tone-which was indifferent again, in that casual, cool Malfoy way that made it appear as if he never feared anything.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, and it was odd for him how openly she was admitting to him now that she did not understand. Granger who had all the answers suddenly asking him for one.

"You're what's keeping me here," he reminded her. "That soddin' magic of yours that never…" Draco sighed, moving over to lean one arm on her headboard. Unlike her, he was able to touch the headboard, able to rest there for a moment. "I always knew you were good, Granger, I just never thought you capable of wandless magic of this caliber," he finally admitted. It was a compliment coming from him, despite the bitterness to his tone.

It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to her.

Hermione sat up, brushing some hair away from her eyes as she pulled her quilt up around her to keep out the cold. Looking at Draco she realized the source of the coldness was him. It was something she'd seen on a tv show once-that ghosts could make a room freeze instantly when it had been warm moments before-but she'd never believed it. The ghosts of the school hardly ever changed their surroundings.

But Malfoy seemed to have a profound effect on his surroundings whether he realized it or not. She took notice of the slight burn left on the wood of her headboard when he pulled his arm away and moved back towards the window.

"It isn't your fault, you know," he commented, glancing at the stars outside. "You couldn't have stopped him if you'd tried."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. He'd just touched on her biggest source of guilt presently. She had plenty of reasons to feel guilty as of late, but not stepping in until it was too late to save him after Draco had surrendered? It was currently at the top of the list.

"You and I both know if anyone was capable of stopping Ron it was me," Hermione argued quietly.

"Alright," Draco agreed, turning to face her again. "Alright, let's go down that road then. And what comes next? Oh right, I ask you why. Why did you let him?"

"I didn't think he would really do it," she admitted. "He and Harry, they're strong and capable but they're not killers. They're not like…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at him.

"Me?" Draco finished darkly for her. "It's okay, Granger, you can say it. I was a bloody Death Eater after all, it's no secret."

"You didn't want that," she insisted.

"You've always been so sure of that, haven't you?" he asked her, his tone biting and harsh, accusing her of assuming the worst of him.

"Hermione, who are you talkin' too?" They both turned their heads to glance at the doorway where a very tired, but worried, Ginny stood. She hugged her robe around her tighter at the cool air of the room but hardly seemed to notice Draco, her curious gaze stuck on Hermione.

And Hermione realized then that this must be because she _couldn't _see Draco. There was no other reason for Ginny to ignore the dead Malfoy's presence.

"I must have been talking in my sleep, Gin," she lied with a nervous smile. "Sorry about that. Tell Harry I'm sorry too if I've woken him?"

"Was Ron who sent me in actually," Ginny replied. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, Granger," Malfoy taunted. "You sure _you're_ alright? Not like you're the dead one. Your biggest worries right now are the fact that Weasel has decided to keep his pants zipped up."

Hermione glared at Draco, then looked at Ginny. "I'm fine," she assured the other girl. "Get some sleep." Ginny sighed, but nodded and turned to leave. "How come she couldn't see you?" Hermione asked-speaking quietly now-before glancing at him again.

"You tell me," he snapped. "This is your doing."

"You keep saying that, but it doesn't make any sense," Hermione insisted. "I'll look into it tomorrow," she added, yawning and laying back on her bed. "Don't you have somewhere you can go?"

"You don't seem to understand," Draco replied, "you're it. I can't _be_ anywhere else. I'm fucking bound to you. So fix whatever you did and let me get on my way already."

"In the morning," she insisted, already half asleep.

Draco opened his mouth to insist some more, but as he looked at her lying there, he was reminded of how troubling sleep was to find these days. And unlike her slumber when he'd arrived, she looked somewhat peaceful now.

"Suppose I'll just wait here then," he muttered, realizing she wouldn't hear him but attempting to sound bitter nonetheless. Making his way across the room, Draco slumped down to take a seat, back against the wall.

He closed his own eyes, but death would not allow him sleep. He really was stuck here for however long Granger decided he needed to stay. _Fuck_.

And this time, as Hermione drifted off into sleep, she dreamed of something else entirely, but Draco was still there, still present in her _nightmare_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He was disappearing. Draco realized this, and he was actually relieved by the idea of it, but every time he thought he might finally get to leave for good, there she was again. Weeks went on like this. He began to lose hope he could ever find peace.

And then one night-in the dead of night, the bloody _witching _hour-Hermione showed up at his graveside again.

This time she was carrying a rather large book, a small cauldron that had steam coming off of it and melted the snow where she set it down, and a grim look on her face. He wasn't immediately visible to her this time, and she looked around hesitantly, as if afraid that he really was gone for good. And then he stepped out of the shadows and nodded towards the book.

"What's this then?" Draco asked her.

"You wanted a way out of this," she reminded him. "I did some research." Draco rolled his eyes, but she ignored it. "There is a spell here in _Moste Potente Potions _that should help you…move on, or whatever it is you need to do," Hermione explained. "I would have been here sooner, but some of the ingredients were difficult to find, and more than a few of them illegal."

"Granger's bending the rules for a dead enemy?" Draco asked her sarcastically. His tone was joking, but in actuality he really was shocked by this idea.

"You're _not _an enemy, Draco," she insisted, catching his transparent gaze before taking a seat on the foot of his grave, directly in front of the cauldron. "You never were."

"I've killed-"

"To survive," she insisted. "You did what you had to, to survive. We all did." She turned her gaze towards the cauldron for a moment. "These are dangerous times, and will be until Voldemort is destroyed."

Opening the lid to the cauldron even as she continued, "You never wanted to do those things. I don't believe for a moment that you're as evil as you pretend to be, and I never did buy it. You have a tell."

"A what?" he asked, moving over to take a seat on his own headstone.

"A tell," Hermione replied, glancing up at him. "It means that you give yourself away without realizing it," she explained, practically rolling her eyes at the fact that she had to explain this to him. But it was a phrase he'd never heard before. She occasionally forgot that the wizarding world had its own language.

"I do not," he insisted, glaring at her.

"You do," Hermione told him calmly.

"Whatever," Draco snapped. "Just…do the spell or whatever it is that you have to do with that soddin' potion and get me out of here already?"

She sighed, staring at the cauldron for a moment before looking back up at him, and her eyes were sad now. It was a look Draco had seen on her before, but never on his behalf, and it startled him a bit.

"What?" he asked, his voice quiet now, as if he were afraid of scaring her away.

"I am sorry for what they did to you," she whispered. "It's an image that haunts my nightmares," Hermione assured him, "and always will. We're in a war, but what sets us apart from them is how we treat our prisoners and enemies, and I thought Harry and Ron had understood that. Guess I was wrong."

He was hesitant to reply, unsure if she meant what she was saying-because it sounded an awful lot like she was doubting her two very best friends. "Guess you were," he agreed finally.

For a moment they looked at each other in silence. The silence was heavy, almost tangible in a way that Draco knew he never would be again. This was it, this was death in all of its glorious finality and no one-not Voldemort or Lucius or anyone-could drag him back. He was finally going to be free of all of them, of all the worries and responsibilities. Of this stupid war he'd never wanted a part in anyway.

"Well?" he finally asked her. He meant it to sound impatient but his tone was more quiet, calm.

"Right," Hermione commented, as if coming out of a daze. She took her wand out and waved it over the potion, muttering, "_Sileo_." A flash of light sparked into the potion and it begin to bubble. Hermione reached for the cauldron and tipped it over so that the mix could melt through the snow and seep into the ground. When the cauldron was empty, she looked up towards Draco.

Only to find he was no longer there. A small smile curved the corner of her mouth, but it was a sad smile that never quite reached her eyes, the smile of someone who wasn't entirely sure she was glad the spell had worked. In the past weeks she had become somewhat used to his company. Where Ron was insisting on keeping his distance, Draco was there when she awoke from nightmares, and even though they never talked about it directly he took her mind off of the dreams just by holding conversations with her.

It was tragic that she would get to know the real Draco Malfoy after his death, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

"I'm so sorry I kept you here at all," she whispered, standing up and gathering her things before she left the cemetery.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes to a painful nothingness. This wasn't heaven but he didn't think it was Hell either. It was entirely too cold to be Hell. Cold and enclosing and oh gods he had never been claustrophobic before this moment, but he just needed to get out of whatever was keeping him.<p>

Draco did the only thing he could think of, he Apparated, willing himself to go right back to where he'd been moments before sitting on his headstone. He hardly noticed the fact that he was solid until he hit the stone, cracking it and throwing them both onto the cold ground.

For a moment he just laid there, trying to catch his breath-because it was clear to him now that he needed it now-eyes shut tightly for fear of what he would see when he opened them. Eventually, he lifted his body up off of the ground with either hand against the dirt and coughed. Coughing and gagging, he laid there hovering until he could no longer feel the dirt scratching up the back of his throat and oh gods…

He was back.

What the hell had Granger done? It wasn't like her to fuck up spells like this, and this one had been meant to let him find peace not fucking bring him back from the dead! Only here he was, and as he reached up with shaking hands to wipe the dirt caked along his face and eyes, he winced slightly at the pain of his wounds. The fatal wound was healed-something he discovered when reaching beneath his shirt to touch the tips of his fingers against the nasty scar there-but the other wounds, the ones Hermione didn't even know about, they were all still very much there.

Instinctively he reached for his wand in his pocket. Of course he found nothing. They had probably disposed of it soon after his death. The fact that he was covered in dirt told him one thing-they hadn't bothered with a casket. The headstone had most likely been upon Hermione's insistence or out of guilt, but other than that, they'd tossed him into a hole and covered him in dirt.

Draco sat up, arms resting on his bent knees, and looked around. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to seeing again, and even longer to adjust to the surrounding darkness.

Everything hurt. His muscles ached and argued that he was dead, that they shouldn't have to move anymore, and his lungs echoed these in screams every breath he took. There was still dirt in his throat and mouth-something he imagined he'd be feeling for a while-and the cut along his forehead was throbbing and bleeding again. He reached up to touch it and found it stitched shut. Well that was something at least-they'd done a bit of cosmetics before throwing him into his grave, but probably more to keep the head wound from bleeding on them than anything. His hand moved next to his throat, and his fingers shook at what he found there.

Blood and dirt lined around his neck in a nearly perfect ring. The rope had bitten into his flesh when they dragged him here, and he could feel the scratches and cuts along his back. It was the sort of treatment he should have expected from Potter and Weasley, but now that he had to fucking live with the effects of it, he wanted to wring their necks.

Coughing again, he attempted to stand up, fell, and simply sat there for a while longer before trying it again. This time he managed to stand, but his legs threatened to buckle, so he kept still.

It wasn't until the sun began to rise that he was able to walk, and even then it was slowly. It took him most of the day to reach the platform, and even longer to make his way into Hogsmeade. By the time he arrived, he was starving and weak, and the snow had caused his skin and lips to turn a bluish color. He looked, ironically, half dead.

Stopping by one of the shops, he snatched a cloak with a hood that made the walk a bit more bearable, but just as he could see one of the entrances to a secret pathway to the school, he collapsed.

When he awoke hours later, it was to panicked shouts and screams.

"HE'S HERE!"

Draco sat up, instantly regretting it when he felt his head throbbing. Landing on it hadn't helped the cut a bit, and it took a moment for his vision to clear up so that he could see what he was looking at. There was a small crowd of people gathered near the store entrance, but it wasn't until they parted that he realized what they were all so excited about.

There stood Harry Potter, looking very tired and very worried, and the minute their eyes locked, Draco knew he wasn't safe. Silence fell across the room as Harry made his way over to where Draco sat. Kneeling down, he stared at Draco as if trying to figure out what exactly he was. His stupid gaze followed first along the cut on his head then down to his throat, and it was in that moment that Draco knew Harry realized this wasn't a trick. He'd tied the bloody rope that had caused those marks, after all.

"Harry, what is it?" Both of them turned their heads to look at Hermione, who had just walked into the room. "Oh Jesus," she whispered, rushing down to Draco's side. Her hand immediately when up towards the cut, but she thought better of it and glanced at Harry.

"Don't," she told him in a stern tone. Everyone there looked at Harry to see what his reaction was, but Draco kept his gaze on Hermione. Harry opened his mouth to argue, but she insisted, "_Don't_."

"Fine then," Harry snapped, glaring at her. "You take care of him. Get him cleaned up, and then we're locking him up."

"I hardly think that's necessary given the condition he's in," she argued.

But Harry was already turning away from her, storming out of the room. Hermione watched him go, then looked back at Draco.

"What did you _do_, Granger?" he whispered, his voice rough and forced and pained.


End file.
